The patriarch ... had greatly changed since I had last seen him. He wore his hair longer, and it now hung in locks of snowy whiteness over his shoulders. His once piercing gray eyes, though still bright, had already begun to fail him. He could no longer paint with his wonted accuracy, and had at last, most reluctantly, been forced to surrender to his sons the task of completing his Quadrupeds of North America. Surrounded by his large family, including his devoted wife, his two sons, and their wives, his enjoyment of life seemed to leave little to him to desire. He was very fond of the rising generation, and they were as devoted in their affectionate regards for him. He seemed to enjoy to the utmost each moment of time, content at last to submit to an inevitable and well earned leisure, and to throw upon his gifted sons his uncompleted tasks. A pleasanter scene or a more interesting household it has never been the writer's good fortune to witness.

Audubon's last (?) letter to Edward Harris, here reproduced, is dated at "Minnie's Land, Feby 22, 1847," and refers to the letterpress of the Quadrupeds. His last published letter to Baird, in which he recommended him to the Board of Regents of the Smithsonian Institution,[225] was written at "Minnie's Land, Feb. 11, 1847." In Spencer F. Baird's last published letter[226] to him, dated at "Carlisle April 24, 1847," he refers to "a fine specimen living of a Red Fox," and added: "If you want him let me know immediately and I will send him on immediately." On July 16 of that year Baird entered this note in his diary:[227] "Went to Mr. Audubon's by stage. Found him much changed."

While Audubon never became blind, as has been erroneously stated, it troubled him to use glasses, and when from failing powers he could no longer paint, his heart seemed broken. Like Jonathan Swift, who compared his own case with that of the proud forest tree whose withering top showed to every passerby the first sign of decrepitude, so the mind of Audubon gave way before his splendid physique utterly broke down.

Bachman, who visited his old friend in the spring of 1848, has given this picture of the naturalist's household in a letter[228] from "Minnie's Land, May 11, 1848":

I found all well here, as far as health is concerned. Mrs. Audubon is straight as an arrow, and in fine health, but sadly worried. John has just come in from feeding his dogs. Audubon has heard his little song sung in French, and has gone to bed. Alas, my poor friend, Audubon, the outlines of his countenance and his form are there, but his noble mind is all in ruins.

The following letter was written by Victor Audubon to his father-in-law, John Bachman, before February 8, 1849, when his brother started on the ill-fated expedition to which he refers:

My brother will leave in a few days for California, he will be absent, perhaps for eighteen months.

This journey is undertaken with the hope that he may be able to get gold. What may be the result, God only knows. John will be accompanied by Col. H. L. Webb, as military leader; the party consists of about eighty picked men. One of Dr. Mayer's sons wished to go with John, but unluckily, his application came after the party was made up, so they could not take him.

I should like much to see you all, but now it will be impossible for me to go so far from home.

My dear old father is apparently comfortable, and enjoys his little notions; but requires constant care and attendance; the rest are well. Your granddaughters are growing finely, and are well educated; soon we shall call in a "Maitre de danse," to polish them up and improve their understanding.